The Boy on the Porch by Sharon Creech Read Free Book Online

it.
    â€œWell, then?”
    And so John told him about the boy, about how the boy had appeared on their porch and how they’d become protective of him and fond of him.
    The sheriff pointed a finger at John. “So, are you saying you lied to me?”
    â€œWell, sir, I did try to—”
    â€œYou lied to me. You said you were watching the boy for someone.”
    â€œWell, sir, technically we are. We just don’t know who that someone is.”
    â€œAnd you didn’t bother to report this?”
    â€œWell, sir, I did try . You may recall I came here to inquire about a missing boy.”
    â€œBut you didn’t tell me the whole truth, did you?”
    â€œNo, sir. Not precisely. I probably should’ve asked about missing parents .”
    â€œYou could be locked up for this, you know that?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œI’m telling you: you could be locked up for this.”
    John took a step back. “Do you mean to tell me that protecting a child and feeding him and caring for him is a crime?”
    The sheriff again pointed at John. “It is if you don’t have permission. It is if nobody knows where that child is.”
    â€œHe had a note, see?”
    Plees taik kair of Jacob .
    He is a god good boy .
    Wil be bak wen we can .
    The sheriff studied the note. “How do I know you didn’t write this note yourself?”
    â€œWhat? Look, I didn’t write the note. We don’t know who did write it. We figured they’d be back later that day, or the next day, or—”
    â€œAnd nobody knew where this boy was?”
    â€œWhat? The people knew—the people who left him. And maybe they told other people. And we knew where he was. My wife and I knew.”
    â€œDon’t be getting clever with me.”
    â€œNo, sir. No, sir, I won’t.”
    â€œSo why did you come in here today?”
    â€œI suppose we ought to try to find the boy’s family.”
    â€œYou tired of the boy, is that it? Ready to be rid of him?”
    â€œNo, sir. No, no. My wife—she’d be heartbroken to give him up—but we want to do the right thing by the boy.”
    â€œAnd you expect me to believe that you didn’t snatch this boy from somebody’s yard? This boy just appeared on your porch one morning?”
    â€œIt’s the truth.”
    The sheriff’s receptionist, Darlene, came in from the back room.
    â€œWhat’s the truth?” she asked.

30

    T hey were all in the barn: Marta, John, Jacob, and the sheriff.
    Marta’s heart was thumping in her chest; John’s tongue felt as dry as if he’d licked sand.
    The boy was sitting on a hay bale, drumming on a pail with two sticks. The beagle was curled at his feet.
    â€œSo this is the boy?” the sheriff asked. “The one that just appeared one day?”
    Marta wanted to grab the boy and flee. She wanted to thunk the sheriff on the head. She wanted to scream.
    â€œLet’s have a look at him,” the sheriff said. “Come here, boy.”
    The boy kept drumming, engrossed in his work.
    â€œIs he deaf or what?”
    â€œNo!” Marta said.
    â€œHe doesn’t obey?”
    â€œHe doesn’t know you, that’s all, or maybe he didn’t hear you because he’s concentrating.”
    The sheriff approached the boy.
    Marta slipped in front of the sheriff and knelt beside the boy. “This is the sheriff,” she explained. “He wants to meet you.”
    â€œWhat’s his name again?”
    â€œJacob. He doesn’t speak.”
    â€œBoy!” the sheriff shouted.
    â€œHe’s not deaf. You don’t have to shout at him,” Marta said, “and he has a name: Jacob.”
    â€œYeah, you told me. Boy, look at me. How’d you get here?”
    â€œWe told you, he doesn’t speak,” Marta said.
    â€œBoy, did these people snatch you and bring you here?”
    â€œSheriff!”
    â€œDid they,